Within another paragraph or two I want to close the book and scream, I feel so overwhelmed. In the simplest of terms, Rohr exposes God’s movement in the cicada buzzing on my porch floor, the begonia at my elbow, quivering a breeze too slight for me to feel. Once seen, it cannot be unseen and seeing is painful, both for its beauty and its sorrow.

What kind of people might we be, could we live as seeing people, treasuring every element as the heart of life itself? How might we regard each other, with tenderness at the very least, rightly shy to ruin something presently so fine?

We humans mostly choose a different course, one that seems less sorrowful to bear. We narrow down our focus to the necessary duties of one job, one house, one family. “This is more than I can manage,” we say, and mostly it feels true. “I’d like to manage something else” is the harder truth to tell. There’s awesome pressure in this world to have the perfect family, house, career; kids competent in class and sports; and colleagues convinced you pull your weight.

Who has time to see a hummingbird flitting at the glass when there are bills to pay this week? Here’s the part of seeing that is so overwhelming: once seen, God cannot be unseen. God is at the grocery store - in the cheerful clerk teaching the Chinese student how the checkout line works, while her line backs up endlessly. God is in the power of those legs on the high school soccer field. Right there, buried in our to-do lists, God is hiding in plain sight. More than I can bear, almost, for the beauty of its presence and the sorrow of having missed it even once before. How can anyone sit still for so profound a revelation!

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I write a Tuesday morning devotional to members and friends of UBC. It is also posted here. Enjoy! Pastor Annette

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